(Scars do not appear to be cause of death –shock ... - Bad Request

Swinging an arm back I gripped the neck of the thug that was maneuvering
in to backstab me, the other hand snatching his wrist before he could slide
the blade somewhere soft. His eyes bulged, and he struggled as I whispered
a single word of power in his ear: "Insects."
I could feel the blood trickling from his nostrils, pouring from his lips and eyes
and wetting my fingers as he collapsed, his insides liquifying as he was eaten
from the inside out. His body convulsed, thrashing as a wet, bubbling scream
gurgled from his lips. By the time he was twitching in his death throes the
centipedes were writhing free from under his eyelids, ants swarming from his
ears and spiders crawling from his lips, gleefully carrying bits of his tongue in
their mandibles.
"B-Barek!"
"A mage!"
"Quick!" another thug screamed, "Grab his wrists! Cover his mouth!"
They weren't as stupid as I imagined. Showing their backs would've meant
certain death. If they could reach me and pin me to the ground with
manacles and gags, they might've had a chance.
But I make my own rules.
Cracking my fists together a wave of air and force battered the nearest thugs
backwards, knocking them to their feet. I waved my hands, and one by one I
plucked each of them up as if by invisible, telekinetic hooks.
One I threw into the wall of an abandoned building, and his body slid
halfway into the stone before it solidified again, stone and flesh melding into
a conglomerate that left his guts ossified. His screams were short and choked
off, and he died slowly as his organs began to fail, half-merged into the brick
as they were.
Another I speared mercifully with arrows of glass, leaving him dangling and
still from the brick wall.
A third I entrapped in prison of crushing salt. He died in an instant.
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